That Awkward Moment When
by JustCaz
Summary: Sherlock breaks into Mycroft's house in the middle of the night and is greeted by Lestrade. Madness ensues.


Greg Lestrade awoke groggily, blinking slowly and reaching across Mycroft's sleeping form for the alarm clock. He groaned at the time, four twenty-three, as he placed the offending object back onto the bedside table.

There was a loud bang from the living room, and all of Greg's senses were suddenly on high alert. _So that's what's woken me up at half four in the bloody morning._ He thought, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

"Mycroft. Myc, wake up." Greg whispered gently, as he nudged the back of Mycroft's shoulder.

The man breathed deeply, and rolled over to face him, snuggling closely into Greg's warmth.

Greg couldn't help but smile lovingly, and he stroked Mycroft's freckled back before nudging him again, more insistently this time. "Come on, you've got to get up. There's someone in the house."

Mycroft reached a hand up to his tired eyes, rubbing away the last dregs of slumber. "What? What is it Gregory?" He mumbled, sitting up and stretching his arms out.

"There's somebody in the house. I don't know who, but it's someone." He answered seriously. Another loud thump emitted from down the hall, and Greg began to get out of bed.

Mycroft grabbed his arm and held him back, turning his head towards the mysterious noises. He waited a second, listening, then said, "Oh bugger, it's Sherlock." He then lay back down again, pulling the covers over his head.

Greg tugged them right back off of him, clambering onto the bed and hovering over Mycroft. "Eh? How do you work that one out then?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. "Firstly, I doubt a burglar of any sort would be so indiscreet, and secondly, it positively reeks of Dr Watson's cologne, yet John doesn't know my address, nor would he have any reason to be breaking into my house at this ungodly hour."

"Ah." Greg said as he filled in the gaps in his head. "Right. And Sherlock _does_ have a reason to be here?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Cig-"

"Cigarettes! Cigarettes Mycroft! Where are they?" A voice yelled, which was unmistakebly Sherlock's, as heavy footsteps approached the bedroom.

"Shit." Greg cursed, as he pushed himself up off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom door, throwing on his dressing gown and tying it just in time before Sherlock barged through the door.

"The cigarettes Mycroft! What have you done with the- Lestrade!?" Sherlock gaped, wide-eyed, at the Detective Inspector, who stood awkwardly by the bed, utterly unsure of what the protocol was in this situation.

"...Hi." He said, holding up his hand in greeting.

Sherlock only stared, his pale eyes flitting from Greg to Mycroft and back again.

"I commend you, Gregory. I don't think anybody's managed to make my brother speechless before." Mycroft said tiredly.

Sherlock let out a vicious growl, which morphed into an angry yell. "You utter git Mycroft! You're shagging my D.I!?"

"_Your_ D.I?" Greg asked incredulously, at the same time as Mycroft replied, "Oh, I didn't realise he was belonging to you, brother dear."

"Oh never mind that!" Sherlock shouted, beginning to stride around the room. "I can't believe you!" He then walked up to Greg, pressing up into his personal space. "Why?"

Greg huffed out a nervous laugh, taking a step away from the enraged detective. "Why? I dunno, we sort of...happened. Actually, I don't really see how that's any of your business, Sherlock."

"Of course it's my business, don't be ridiculous. I don't need to know your love story, Lestrade, I meant why _him_. You could have anyone, why choose him of all people?" Sherlock said, glaring intensely at Greg.

Greg swallowed audibly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown. "Well he's...what's there to say? I fancied the pants off him, thought he was completely brilliant actually, so I asked him out, he said no, so I was persistent and stubborn until he said yes, we went out a few times and...here we are. And no, I'm not going to stop seeing Mycroft, because...because he's the best thing that's happened to me after the divorce, and no amount of your whining or childish petulance is going to change that." He blew out a breath of relief as Sherlock narrowed his eyes but stepped back from him.

"Right. Well." Sherlock said, and then turned to Mycroft, scrutinising him, no doubt trying to deduce his feelings about all this. He snapped his head back to face Greg. "If you hurt him, I will personally have you murdered in a cruel and unusual way, and your body buried in an undisclosed location where nobody will ever find you."

Greg grinned at the consulting detective almost-fondly.

"What? What is it?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"You _do_ care!" He answered teasingly, as he went over to the bedside table, opened the top drawer and retrieved a packet of cigarettes. "I think he's earned these, don't you?" He asked Mycroft, as he tossed them across the room to Sherlock, who caught them deftly out of the air.

"Just a warning, Sherlock." Mycroft began, "I wouldn't break into my house without informing us beforehand; you wouldn't want to see anything akin to what you and Dr Watson were doing before you so rudely interrupted our slumber."

Sherlock pocketed the cigarettes and headed out of the house before Greg could even make it back to bed, the door slamming loudly behind him.

"Well, I don't think we'll be getting any more trouble from him, will we?" Mycroft asked, as he curled himself around Greg's body, kissing his neck gently.

"No, I doubt it." He replied, before sleep overcame them once again.

* * *

Greg turned on his phone to check his messages, as he shifted into a sitting position against the headboard.

He laughed as he read the first message in his inbox, not expecting any less from the good doctor.

_Message from: John Watson, Received at 5:36am_

_Mycroft bloody fucking Holmes!?_


End file.
